Life Gallery

It’s a sweltering May afternoon and we’ve already marvelled at the Acropolis and Temple of Zeus. I’m high on marble, and craving a Greek coffee. Athens may be the birthplace of democracy but there’s nothing democratic about Mr Smith’s insistence we see everything in one weekend. Plus, it’s too hot to rush about. Athens sits in a basin between four mountains, and from the scorching, hectic centre it’s impossible not to see the distant slopes and covet the cool, fresh air up there. Which is one of the reasons why we’re staying at Life Gallery, on pine-studded Mount Penteli.

Our taxi climbs into the forested suburb of Ekali and stops outside a modernist, glass-louvred building set in a smart garden of terraced lawns and mature trees. The instant we walk inside the cool interior, we unwind. A long walkway dotted with Asian furniture and modern art leads to reception, where we’re greeted by the most enchanting staff you could wish for. This sets the pattern for our whole stay.

The elevator deposits us upstairs and we sink Achilles-deep into a corridor of sumptuously soft carpet. We wade to our room and open the door onto an elegant essay in Japanese-influenced minimalism, with a few funky touches such as a bright orange strip of under-lit floor – very Studio 64. The bathroom is a freestanding counter with twin basins, and a pair of cubicles – one loo, one bionic power shower – that share a sliding glass door and a cheeky peephole between them. While Mr Smith performs an exhaustive audit of the 18 lighting ‘mood scenarios’, I escape to the veranda and soak up the view of the mountain which provided all that Pentelic marble used to construct the masterpieces of ancient Athens.

Mr Smith’s light-show now concluded, he finds the buttons that operate the electric curtains which I take to be an invitation to come back inside. The low bed is made up with the silkiest cotton sheets, and within seconds I’m supine, channel-hopping on the big flat-screen TV. Can you blame me? Mr Smith has other ideas. He’s seen the pool with the glass side-wall and is clutching his camera. I forecast sub-aquatic action shots. He grabs the Armani robes from the wardrobe and heads out for a splash; I lunge for my most flattering swimwear and follow suit.

Post-dip, heading back inside via the Ananea Spa is a suitably sybaritic segue. We swerve a small well-equipped gym in favour of the Jacuzzi. After an aerated soak and a chat to the expert therapists about their range of tempting Ayurvedic treatments, I consider a revivifying Sundari facial; 60 minutes of tailor-made bliss starting with a foot massage and closing with their signature ‘Marmassage’ pressure-point stimulation.

Following our fitness frenzy – OK, the contemplation of one – we deserve a drink. The Pisco Sour Bar is gently thrumming with residents and Marni-clad visitors, all draped around the low armchairs and gleaming scarlet horseshoe bar. After a brace of Chilean cocktails and a browse of the vibrant contemporary art on the walls, our appetites stir. We’ve barely taken our seats in the restaurant when a ‘welcome soup’ of rocket and salmon appears. Next up is a delicate artichoke risotto with yoghurt and saffron sauce for me; a spectacularly tender crusted pork fillet for him. The puddings are delicious too, and it’s all we can do to roll back to our room and slink into that wonderful bedding.

By breakfast, a buffet in the airy hall beckons – we attack it with gusto. Life Gallery appeals to work-minded guests thanks to its proximity to the business district, but mercifully any suits have long since left for meetings so there’s no competition for the perkiest croissants. A beaming waitress says we can order whatever we fancy, and Mr Smith plays it trad with bacon and eggs. Through cathedral-height windows we gaze longingly at the pool and resolve to get back into our swimmers after a whirl in nearby Kifissia.

This cosmopolitan local neighbourhood bustles with boutiques and beautiful people, and we opt for cutting-edge gallery Mihalarias Art and a shot of café culture at Varsos, a patisserie that has been the beating heart of Kifissia – amid a blur of ever-changing fast-food outlets – for the last 110 years. Blazered regulars wander about the Bond-location seating area at the back, pockets bulging with cigarettes, hands twirling worry beads. It’s as if time has stood still since the Fifties. After a lunch of the legendary home-made yoghurt served slick with honey and walnut halves, it’s back to the hotel for a siesta; there are some local customs I consider it important to observe.

A reviving tea in the beautifully kept gardens galvanises us for a proper Athenian’s night on the town. We eat a pork souvlaki under the trees in the garden of Gefsis, a Kifissia restaurant in a delightful old town house, then buy tickets for the latest Tom Hanks blockbuster at Boboniera, Athens’ oldest open-air cinema. Summer cinemas, open May to September, are an institution in Greece. Often located in walled gardens abloom with bougainvillea and surrounded by residential flats, half the fun is watching the neighbours on balconies overhead settle down to watch the film in their vests.

I grew up in this city and my father still lives here. At the no-frills screenings in my youth I’d have been thrilled with a Fanta and a handful of pumpkin seeds. Nowadays, though the garden tables and chairs remain, it’s a smarter affair: we hunker down beneath the stars with fresh popcorn and Mythos beers. Murmuring audience members and wafts of cigarette smoke only heighten the romance of a moonlit movie with my man. During the interval – interval! – we revisit the bar while our co-spectators up in the gods fold their laundry.

Next morning we glumly check out of Life Gallery. The reception staff extend an open invitation for us to use the pool and bar whenever we’re in town visiting my Pateras. Struck by a thunderbolt of filial piety, Mr Smith vows to visit his in-laws more often in future. It may not be the most selfless democratic act since antiquity, but I’m happy to vote with him on this one.